The painter is coming tomorrow, so we had to go ahead and pack up the baby’s room this afternoon. I say “baby” but he’s really a toddler now. Our sermon at church today was about the tough passing of times in our lives being like little deaths and resurrections preparing us for the big one on down the road…perfect for us right now. So I was very stoic about it all and carefully packed up his little keepsakes and sent the changing table and rocking chair on to storage to await their “resurrection” at our next stop, wherever that may turn out to be. The day wore on with more preparations and bedtime drew near. Bradley was making one more trip to the storage unit and so we decided it would be a “ride to sleep” night. We’ve done that before, more often lately as we are weaning.
Only this time as I strapped my precious little boy into his carseat he was so undone—the hard play of the day was sending tears running down his face. My first impulse was of course to change course and take him into his room, cut the lights and rock him to sleep with prayers, our special lullaby and the sounds of his wave machine. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks—I will never again sit in that corner and do that. The very last time was last night and I hadn’t stopped to appreciate it, hadn’t realized it until it was too late...then I joined Charlie Mac in his tears. Sweet Bradley offered through his own misty eyes to bring the chair back with him, but as with anything about love--to contrive it is just not right. I took a deep breath and went back inside as they pulled away from the house.
I know that it sounds silly—that the same rocking chair, noisemaker and most especially the same sweet boy will be at the next place, but that spot on this earth of ours is where I grew from who I was before to who I am now, where I really grew up. To leave that spot is to leave a quiet place I shared with my son and God alone.
This spot is where I learned the beginning of what it takes to be a mother…and just how much that really is. I’ve logged countless hours of nursing, rocking, singing and most of all praying in the cool darkness of that room. Sometimes well after the baby was sleeping soundly in my arms I’d rock on looking at him in wonder, throw caution to the winds and risk thirty more minutes to steal a kiss from his little lips. There were times when I begged the Lord above for guidance or wept in frustration over how scared or lost I felt. It was there that I learned not just to ask, but to listen for the guidance that's always right there and to see that I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I learned to overcome myself, and I learned it in that corner.
I’ll always remember that spot, just the way it was. I’ll remember it the way I remember the Gulf under the moonlight and winter stars in the Delta. It’s part of who I am, so it will always be with me wherever I go…wherever that may turn out to be.
